


After All, We Linger

by giselleslash



Series: The Linger 'Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Codependency, Come play, Devotion, Dirty Talk, Felching, Fucking, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pet Names, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Slice of Life, Steve Rogers Feels, Top Bucky Barnes, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giselleslash/pseuds/giselleslash
Summary: Steve and Bucky recovering, fucking, and at peace in a cottage on an isolated stretch of beach. A slice of life fic.





	After All, We Linger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kajmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajmere/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Мы будем всегда](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16056476) by [fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018/pseuds/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018), [Magdalena_sylar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magdalena_sylar/pseuds/Magdalena_sylar)



> Long, long, loooong ago it was Kajmere's birthday so I started to write this fic for her.
> 
> You can see how well that went for me.
> 
> But finally, months later, here it is! HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, KAJMERE!! My love, my light, my sister wife.

Steve wakes up and stretches out, starfishes his arms and legs out toward the corners of the bed. Bucky’s side of the bed is already cold. When Steve cracks his eyes all the way open he sees it’s just coming up on six o’clock. He figures Bucky’s been up and gone for a good hour now. 

He groans as he stretches again, curls his toes and fingers in on themselves. When he rolls out of bed his feet drop to the floor with a thud. He spends a couple of minutes sitting on the side of the bed yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Contrary to what everyone suspects of him Steve is not a morning person, has never been a morning person. Bucky was always the one who was obnoxiously bright and chipper at obscenely early hours of the day. Even when he’d stayed out dancing and carousing all night he’d pop out of bed before Steve, and in a much better mood. Steve would much rather lay around in bed all morning, especially if Bucky was beside him.

He scratches at his stomach as he stands up. He has to yank down the right leg of his boxer briefs that have ridden up in the night. Bucky always teases him about needing to wear his panties to bed, even if they’d fucked themselves into a coma and could hardly move Steve would get up and put on his underwear before crawling back into bed beside Bucky. No matter how clean they keep their small house there always seems to be sand in the bed, it’s the one thing that drives Steve fucking nuts. Bucky just laughs and gently pats Steve’s crotch and tells him it’s okay to have a sensitive dick. 

Steve doesn’t tell him he’s more concerned about sand in his asscrack than anything else because that would set Bucky off for-fucking-ever. 

There’s a gentle, warm breeze blowing the pale yellow curtains of their bedroom. They quietly billow in the wind and Steve leans over, places his hands on the windowsill, and looks out. Another beautiful day in paradise, the sun’s shining and he can already feel the heat of the day creeping up on him.

They’ve been in their little house on the edge of paradise for six months now. After the wars, the fighting, after everything, this is all Steve wants for Bucky. For them both. He wants quiet and peace and heaven on earth for as long as Bucky lives. He knows in his very guts that he’ll kill anyone, _anyone_ , who tries to take this away from them. They’re not leaving this place until the day Bucky says he wants to go. 

The bright sun makes Steve blink. He can see the ocean from their bedroom window but there’s no sign of Bucky. Steve figures he must be getting to the middle or end of his morning swim, if it were earlier he’d be swimming west down the coast. He likes to get up before the sun and swim toward the lingering dark and then turn around and chase the rising sun in the east. He doesn’t always take the same path, sometimes he swims right out into the ocean. Miles and miles away from shore and every second he’s gone Steve’s heart clenches and screams in his chest, worried that he’ll just keep on swimming and never come back, or that he’ll simply stop swimming altogether and let himself sink to the ocean floor. 

Bucky only swims straight out to sea on his dark days.

They’ve become Steve’s dark days too.

He takes one last look out of the window then stands up to walk into the bathroom. He splashes some water on his face, brushes his teeth, he waits to shower until Bucky gets back. Bucky likes grabbing his hand and dragging him into the shower with him, and Steve likes to be dragged.

The coffee pot starts up at almost the exact second Steve steps into their tiny kitchen and he smiles to himself. It’s almost as if Bucky knows him inside and out, right down to the exact time he’ll wake up and wander into the kitchen. His stomach fills with warmth even as it grumbles and complains about being empty. Very rarely does Bucky set the automatic coffee pot for the wrong time. 

Steve grabs two mugs out of the cupboard and stops for a second to glance out of the window above the sink. He can see more of the ocean, and Bucky now as well. He’s slicing through the water just along the shore. He’s close enough Steve can see the deep tan of his skin and it makes him hungry for things other than breakfast. 

They’re so isolated in their little world that they rarely see other people except when they go out looking, or invite them in, so Bucky spends a lot of time naked. It’s out of sheer laziness and not giving a fuck on his part, but Steve always appreciates it, and he knows that dark, beautiful tan goes from head to toe with no breaks in between. Steve’s still pale as can be and can’t tan to save his life, but at least now he doesn’t burn bright pink or rosy red like he used to do before the serum. 

He could spend all morning watching Bucky slice through the water, every movement smooth and graceful. He’s so fucking beautiful out there against the sunrise that Steve’s okay with being up way too early in the morning. He gets to see this, he alone gets to look out his kitchen window at paradise and see the man who has always been the other half of him. 

The other half who is slowly and surely coming back to him. 

He’s sleeping better, he’s eating anything and everything Steve puts in front of him, and the tired weariness is leaving his face. He’s bulked up and solid and Steve can’t stop touching him, can’t stop feeling the thickness of him, the hard planes of his body. Steve loves that solidness, that weight, because it seems to anchor Bucky to the ground, to settle him into the earth. For long months Steve had lived in daily fear that Bucky would just let go and float away, disappear, but now he’s planted himself firmly in the world along with Steve. He’s not going anywhere and Steve can finally let go of the fear. 

And most importantly he’s beginning to let himself be forgiven. 

For all the solid weight of him there’s a newfound lightness too that Steve is trying to nurture and feed every chance Bucky’ll give him. He laughs more, smiles more, and every time he does Steve gets so weak in the knees he doesn’t know how he stays standing. When they talk in quiet voices in the middle of the night the memories are soft and sweet, happy in a way that lifts the sadness just that little bit more. And when Bucky turns to him and says, _’Remember that time —’_ his voice is caught between a laugh and speech and Steve lightens in anticipation of what memory he’ll come up with. 

Steve sees they’re down to their last dozen eggs and nearly everything is running low when he goes to gather up their breakfast things. There’s more than enough to cobble together a breakfast but Steve plans on heading to the nearby village to food shop. 

By the time Steve next looks out the window he finds Bucky walking up the beach toward the house and he has breakfast laid out, the scrambled eggs staying warm in the oven. He walks to the open door and smiles out at Bucky. 

Steve squirms against Bucky when his cold, wet arms wrap around him. Bucky only presses his nose into the curve of Steve’s neck and holds him tighter. He feels his feet leave the floor when Bucky picks him up for a second to walk them both back through the doorway onto the porch. Steve smiles against Bucky’s shoulder and presses kisses into his skin. He loves the way it warms under his lips. 

They walk themselves over to the outdoor shower that’s attached to the side of the house. They’re stupidly uncoordinated when they walk together wrapped up in each other’s arms and Bucky laughs when Steve trips himself up over his own feet. Steve just gives him a look and shoves him into the old wooden shower. 

Bucky shakes himself off like a dog as Steve gets the shower running and warmed up, at least as warm as it ever gets. Tepid at best. Steve grabs Bucky and moves him under the spray, makes quick work of getting his hair shampooed and lathered up. The salt water makes Bucky’s thick hair an absolute rat’s nest if it’s allowed to dry even the tiniest bit. Bucky tips his head back to rinse out the shampoo and Steve leans in to kiss along the arch of his neck down to his collarbone. When it’s Steve’s turn Bucky is just as quick, economical, getting Steve’s hair lathered up. His fast movements are almost rough as Steve’s head jostles around from the force of Bucky’s scrubbing fingers. He doesn’t complain because the way Bucky scrubs at him is an exact copy of the way Bucky’s mother used to bathe them at night when they were young. She had four kids to get through, five when Steve would spend the night, and it was a quick, rough scrub for each of them before they were ushered out of metal tub they used for a bath and the next kid was ushered in. Steve remembers his head jostling about in just the same way as his hair was cleaned and a finger covered in an old worn washcloth would scrub his ears. If any of them complained they got a swift swipe to the backside as they were pulled out of the tub. They all stood it though because they knew that at the end of the bath Mrs. Barnes would wrap them up in a towel, hug them to her as she rubbed at their back and arms. She was always soft and warm and smelled of the rosewater she’d dab behind her ears. The memory of being tucked into bed between Bucky and Becca, all spic and span and buttoned up into a pair of Bucky’s old pajamas always made his heart stumble in his chest. 

His Bucky, here today, is such a glorious mess of his Bucky from back home, the Bucky he’d missed for so many aching years, and the Bucky he has beside him now. It’s a mixture that never stops surprising him and never once fails to confirm just how fucking lucky he is to love, and be loved by, such a wonderful, jagged, puzzle of a man.

When Bucky’s done done with Steve’s hair he grabs a clean towel from the nearby clothesline and wraps him up in it. Steve smiles to himself as Bucky briskly rubs his chest and arms dry before squeezing him tight in a warm cotton hug. 

Just like his mother.

Steve manages to kiss Bucky’s cheek before he gives him a shove to get out of his way so he can dry off too. It’s his not so subtle signal that Steve needs to get his ass into the house and set out breakfast. Some days, when he’s feeling a bit feisty, he’ll argue with Bucky about always being the one to have to make breakfast, that he’s not some antiquated version of a housewife. He likes getting Bucky going, loves it when they argue, because in the end he always ends up bent over their small kitchen table getting well and properly fucked while Bucky whispers the best kind of filth in his ear and tells him no matter what Steve argues he’ll always be Bucky’s best girl. 

He picks up the boxer briefs he abandoned on their way to the shower and brings them inside with him. He tosses them into the dirty clothes basket before slipping on a new pair and some old cargo shorts and t-shirt as well before going back to set out breakfast. He lets out a small laugh when Bucky saunters in wearing nothing but a pair of old, holey cut-off sweatpants and a flowered towel wrapped around his head. He’s a bit of a disaster but goddamn if he doesn’t still make Steve’s mouth water. 

They eat in silence, Bucky devouring everything on his plate. Every once in awhile though he stops and reaches out to touch Steve; his wrist, the curve of his jaw, the back of his neck. Bucky was always tactile and that hasn’t changed except now Steve feels like Bucky does it to remind himself that this is all real, that Steve’s truly there beside him and he’s not caught in some horrid Hydra nightmare using his feelings of love and peace against him. It breaks Steve’s heart and he’s found himself doing the same, taking time to reach out and touch Bucky whenever he can just to say, yes, my love, my sweetheart, I’m here.

We’re here.

There’s one last piece of mango on Bucky’s plate and he picks it up and feeds it to Steve, his fingers intentionally slipping slightly into Steve’s mouth and playing along his lips as they retreat. Steve grabs Bucky’s wrist and brings his hand back to his mouth, kisses the mango juice off of each finger before pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. Bucky flicks Steve’s nose with his finger and smiles at him before standing up and gathering the dishes.

While Bucky washes up Steve grabs the grocery list from the refrigerator. He holds it up to Bucky and raises an eyebrow, Bucky just shakes his head so he heads outside to start up the pink moped Bucky bought for them when they first moved to the island. He got it used and it’s covered in rainbow stickers. He’s so defiantly proud of it that Steve loves it an obscene amount. For all of the hiding they had to do when they were young Bucky’s making up for it tenfold now; loudly and proudly out, so demonstrably happy to no longer be in the shadows. 

Steve spends about an hour in the small village that’s just a few miles from their home. They’re on the side of the island where the tourists are not and they both love that they can go weeks without hearing a word of English or seeing anyone who gives a fuck who they are. They’ve both learned enough of the local language to haggle at the markets and to hold polite conversations with their neighbors. And that haggling, those conversations, are few and far between. Steve loves it, he’d be okay if Bucky were the only person he ever spoke to for the rest of his life.

He’s done now. They both are, and the simplicity of where they are now is exactly what they both need.

Once Steve has all of the food he can manage to stack up in the box on the back of the moped, and an old worn paperback copy of _Brave New World_ he knows Bucky will adore, he heads back home. 

When Steve gets home he has to take a couple of minutes to just sit on the moped and watch Bucky. Their closest neighbor has two little girls who come by every once in awhile on their way to and from school, right now they’re sitting on the front porch step with Bucky. Kina is braiding his hair while he looks over Marauta’s math homework. She has a test today, Steve remembers. They have more than one math test pinned to their refrigerator, along with Kina’s drawings and spelling lists. They hand over their successes to Bucky like they’re handing over gold, which is how Bucky treats them. He gets so excited and Steve can see how happy it makes them to make Bucky proud. 

It makes Steve want things.

Back when they were young and innocent he remembers thinking what it would be like to have a family with Bucky, to have children and see him love them and them love him in return. He thought about it a lot, dreamed about it, because it was something he knew he’d never have. Now? Now they have options, it’s a possibility. He thinks it’s something he wants. He hopes it’s something Bucky wants. He hasn’t decided yet whether he should say something to Buck or not. 

It’s one of those things he’s waiting to say in one of their quiet middle of the night conversations. He doesn’t feel the need to rush it because now it finally feels like they have all the time in the world. 

Bucky must feel Steve staring at him because he looks up and over to where they park the moped. When he sees Steve just sitting there staring at him with lovestruck eyes he rolls his own and grins at him. He knows seeing him with kids makes Steve sentimental. 

It’s getting to be time for the girls to go so as Steve is unloading the groceries and walking into the house he hears Bucky usher Kina and Marauta on their way, hears him wish Marauta good luck on her test. 

When Bucky comes back inside and starts helping Steve unpack the groceries Steve digs down into the box to find the book he bought for Bucky. Once he finds it he tosses it over to Bucky who catches and smiles as he reads the title. Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve’s shirt to pull him in for a kiss before heading back outside with the book. Steve grins to himself, he knew once he gave Bucky the book he’d be on his own with the groceries. 

Steve finishes putting the groceries away. He takes a second to look out the window to see that Bucky’s taken up residence in one of their loungers on the porch. He can see he’s already several pages into the book and it makes Steve smile. He leaves Bucky alone and wanders into the back of the house. There’s an old table he’s refinishing to take the place of the sawhorses and sheet of plywood covered with a tablecloth that they’re using now. On his way to the backroom he stops for a second to put a record on the player. The heat isn’t the best for their scant record collection but they make do and soon the Boswell Sisters’ voices fill their tiny house. He turns the volume up just enough that he knows it’ll float out to Bucky. 

Music fills the small cottage and every once in awhile the breeze picks up and Steve can hear the palm leaves rustling outside the open window and the sound of the ocean mixing in with all of it, a constant, steady sound. In the beginning it bothered Steve, the continuous whoosh of the waves. He couldn’t let it become white noise for some reason until one night he found himself listening to Bucky breathing peacefully next to him and his breath matched the shushing of the ocean. It all mixed inside of Steve, calming him, sinking into his heart. Bucky’s breath had always been the rhythm of his own breath, his own heart, and suddenly it combined with the ocean. Ever since Steve’s craved it, needs it to ground himself in the here and now. He misses it when it’s gone, when he rides into town and he’s too far from the shore. He feels untethered, just like he does when he’s too far away from Bucky. Sometimes Bucky jokes with him, especially when he’s too clingy, too needy, he says they should just tie themselves to each other with rope so Steve’s never more than a foot or two away from him.

Steve never tells him he would crawl inside Bucky if he could, live inside of him, safe and inseparable, being tied to him would be the least of it. 

Sometimes Steve frightens himself with the intensity of his desire and need for Bucky, how he loves him so desperately he could devour him. The pulse of it so hard and deep inside of him he needs to say it out loud. He remembers when it used to embarrass him, when he thought Bucky would think him mad for the things he thought and said, but Bucky whispers the same things in his ear in the night and makes everything okay. He’s long since given up caring what that desperation and need says about him, about them both, he finally has Bucky back, they’re finally here together and that’s all that matters in Steve’s eyes.

He times the sweeping of his hand to the sound of the ocean, the tune of Bucky’s breath, as he sands the sides of the table. It’s rhythmic and Steve soon loses himself to the mundane task, time slipping away from him as the morning moves on and it gets later. 

When the sanding is finished Steve decides it’s too humid to try to move onto staining the table and instead tosses the piece of sandpaper in his hand into the corner of the room and goes in search of Bucky. He finds him where he left him, in the lounger reading, except he’s much further along in the book now.

He leans against the open doorway and lets himself soak in the sight of Bucky. He knows Bucky’s one hundred percent aware of him standing there but he keeps his nose in his book like he’s oblivious to the world. 

Bucky’s added an old, faded button down to his debonair cut-off sweatpants ensemble. The shirt used to be white but now it’s more a light pink. Steve’s pretty sure it’s his fault it’s pink, he never did learn how to properly do laundry, Bucky was always the one who washed their clothes back in the day, but he refuses to admit fault and Bucky wears it constantly just to rub it in. It doesn’t bother Steve one bit because Bucky hardly ever buttons it and pink makes his tanned skin look even more delicious, which Steve knows Bucky is well aware of, the fucking tease. He hasn’t got a single button buttoned on it today either, it hangs open on either side of his flat stomach and Steve knows he’s going to settle down on Bucky’s lap and slip his hands along Bucky’s sides, run his fingers back over that stomach and soak in the warmth of that soft skin. 

But for now Steve’s content just to look.

Bucky’s long legs are on display, one stretched out straight, the other bent at the knee, his shorts riding up his thigh. Steve knows the taste, the feel, the smell of the skin there, soft and vulnerable like so little else on Bucky is, it always makes Steve’s stomach drop to think about it. There’s a light dusting of sand lingering on Bucky’s feet. Steve teases him that he goes barefoot on purpose, keeps his feet sandy, so Steve can’t kiss them. He loves the arches of Bucky’s feet, loves to kiss them, and the long lean tops of his feet as well, but the arches make Bucky laugh and squirm and he’s always hated being ticklish and is just stubborn enough to stomp around in sand to thwart Steve’s efforts.

It’s okay though, Steve gets him in other places. Getting Bucky to let out a burst of shocked, almost giggly laughter is one of his favorite things, and of course, after all of these years, he knows every single ticklish speck of Bucky’s body.

Bucky has his book propped up on his stomach so every time he turns a page it brushes across the taut, tanned skin. Steve wants to follow the path of those pages with his fingers, continue on up his chest to his nipples. He can tell even from where he’s standing that they’re hard, Bucky definitely knows he’s being watched. Steve bites his lower lip in anticipation. Those nipples, fuck, Steve’s made Bucky come more than once from just playing with them; sucking, biting, teasing them until Bucky cries out. Just the thought of it is making Steve’s cock start to stiffen and he reaches down to run his fingers along its length. He looks up and sees Bucky’s toes curl and a light rumble of laughter works itself free from his throat.

It’s all Steve can do not to jump Bucky immediately.

But he hasn’t had time to let himself gaze at Bucky’s face, his favorite fucking face in the world. Every part of it beloved and so beautiful it makes Steve’s throat tighten, the emotion too overwhelming. He reacts to Bucky’s face the same way he does to certain pieces of art, their beauty and the emotions they conjure up enough to bring him to the brink of tears. Bucky’s face is Steve’s world, every slope and plane of it holds memories; heartache and love, misery and elation. Bucky’s face is the story of Steve’s life.

Bucky has his hair up in a messy bun, bits of Kina’s braids still visible here and there. It’s off his face, off the perfect slope of the back of his neck. Steve’s eyes trail over all of his favorite lines and curves. When he can’t tear his gaze from Bucky’s lips they begin to turn up in a soft, barely there smile. Of course the little shit knows exactly where Steve’s looking and that he’s been looking for awhile. He’s put every piece of himself on display just for Steve. It’s intoxicating, all that beauty just for him.

Steve lets out a quiet snort at Bucky’s performance and pushes off from the doorframe to walk back into the cottage. Bucky knows exactly what he’s going to get and it’s not like Steve’s going to deny him it. 

He goes to their bedroom and pulls off his t-shirt, shorts, and boxer briefs before grabbing the nearly empty bottle of lube they tossed to the floor the night before. Steve pours some into his hand and slowly strokes up and down his cock a couple of times, looking at Bucky already made half hard and the thought of what he’s about to do combined with the slow strokes are enough to make him fully hard. He lays down on the bed and spreads his legs as he pours out more lube. It doesn’t take long, he’s still loose from the night before, two fingers slip in easily without much effort. Even with the ease of it he’s impatient to get back to Bucky, and only spends a couple of minutes opening himself up.

Bucky pretends not to hear him or see him when he walks back out onto the porch.

He keeps reading as Steve leans down and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his shorts and pulls them down. He does lift his hips slightly to allow Steve to pull them off of him, but he just turns another page as Steve grips his knees and spreads his legs. Steve kneels between Bucky’s legs and slips his hands beneath his shirt, lightly scratching his nails up and down Bucky’s sides. There’s a faint, smug little smile on Bucky’s face and the corner of Steve’s mouth turns up. The asshole. 

Steve drags his fingers down Bucky’s hips and wraps his hand around his cock, slowly stroking it with his still lube-slick hand. He leans down and kisses along the jut of Bucky’s hip bone, then down over the top of his leg. He works his way to the sweet, soft inside of Bucky’s thigh and stays there for a bit, just breathing him in. The heat and musk of him is something that can still intoxicate Steve, not alcohol or drugs, but Bucky. He can still get drunk on Bucky, even more intensely now, it seems, and it makes Steve thankful every time. If he had lost it, the deep, slow plunge of oblivion, floating away on the taste of Bucky’s skin and the smell of his desire, he thinks it would’ve been an unbearable sorrow. 

Steve settles himself between Bucky’s legs, lays himself down on his side so he can use Bucky’s thigh as a pillow as he takes his time stroking him into hardness. Long minutes pass as he lazily strokes, watches the way Bucky’s cock wakes up in his hands. Steve feels Bucky’s fingers tangle gently in his hair as he mouths at the side of his cock, nudges it with his nose from time to time as he continues to stroke him. 

When Bucky’s grip on his hair tightens Steve gets to his knees and takes Bucky’s cock fully into his mouth. The book is finally tossed to the side and both of Bucky’s hands are kneading his head, fingers pushing down his neck and sliding along his jaw. His thumb presses into Steve’s bottom lip. Bucky’s so hard in his mouth, and he’s making those little noises in the back of his throat that Steve knows means he’s on the edge. 

He lets Bucky slip out of his mouth, he can’t believe he’s teased him this long especially when Steve had been so hungry to have Bucky’s cock inside of him when he was prepping himself. He raises up on his knees and moves to straddle Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s cock is wet from Steve’s mouth but he reaches down to the bottle of lube he’d brought with him from the bedroom. He slicks Bucky up even more as Bucky keeps his eyes focused on his face, his fingers gently tracing curve of Steve’s mouth, his metal hand warm from the sun is soft and gentle on Steve’s cheek. 

That careful careful gentleness. God. Steve loves him so desperately and wholly. 

Steve drops the lube and guides Bucky’s cock inside him, all of him. He doesn’t need to be slow or careful, his body is ready for him as he sinks down to the base of Bucky’s cock. He rolls his hips and he feels it in his gut already, that sweet ache, he’s so full of Bucky, so filled up. Bucky’s hands are soon on his hips and he presses his hands to Bucky’s chest as he starts to ride him harder, faster.

They haven’t stopped looking at one another and Steve leans in for a kiss.

“My love,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips and he realizes it’s the first words either one of them have spoken today. 

“Yours.” Steve’s voice is ragged and he digs his fingers into Bucky’s chest, his breaths short and fast. 

Bucky’s started moving with him, fucking up into him, and it’s getting a bit frantic between the two of them. Steve presses his face against Bucky’s as Bucky clings to him, wraps his arms around him and holds him so tightly against his chest he can’t move. 

“Baby,” Steve gasps against Bucky’s cheek. 

Bucky’s hands are holding him so fucking tightly it’s almost painful and he hopes it bruises, hopes he leaves his mark no matter how lingering they are with Steve’s quick healing. “Tell me what you need,” Bucky says, his mouth wet on Steve’s. 

“Fill me up.” Steve says as he moves to bite along Bucky’s jaw, they’re fucking so hard and fast the lounger is creaking beneath them. “Fill me full.”

“So full.”

“Want your come dripping outta me.”

Steve knows how much Bucky loves watching his come leak out of his asshole, loves watching it run down his thighs. He wraps both arms around Bucky’s neck and rocks his hips, rides Bucky as hard as he can as Bucky sucks his nipple, bites at it until Steve cries out. He hasn’t even touched his own cock and he’s spilling between the two of him, his come splattering onto Bucky’s stomach and his own. Bucky’s arms tighten around Steve’s waist as he fucks up into him, pushes into him deep as Steve keeps coming in lingering spurts, his thighs quivering with the intensity of it. 

“Sweetheart, goddamn,” Steve gasps as he runs his hands over Bucky’s neck and slips them down the back of his shirt to the smooth, solid muscles of his upper back. He pulls Bucky closer to his chest. Bucky knows his cue and starts sucking harder at Steve’s nipple making him shiver and squirm. “Come in me, sweetheart. Come on. Come hard.”

Bucky buries his face in Steve’s chest as his hips jerk and shudder. Steve feels the whoosh of air against his skin as Bucky gasps. His arms tighten around Steve’s waist as he fucks up into him, hard, hard and deep and Steve grunts with it as he’s pushed forward by the force of the thrusts. Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s hair as he clutches his head and presses his lips to the top of his head.

“Yes, yes, goddamn.” Steve breathes out as he feels the hot rush of Bucky’s come filling him up. He loves the way it feels inside him, loves the filthy, squelching sound Bucky’s dick makes as he keeps fucking up into him, loves knowing he can hold it inside himself and then let it come leaking out, dirty and sticky down his thighs. He never lets Bucky clean him up right away, he wants to keep Bucky on him, in him, for as long as possible. Bucky always smiles, calls him a come slut in a pleased, husky voice, and he’s fine with it. He is one. He loves nothing more than those days they spend in marathon fuck sessions seeing how many times they can make each other orgasm, both of them ending up drenched in come.

“Baby,” Bucky says as he lets go of Steve with one hand to run his fingers over the trail of come on his stomach and bring them to Steve’s mouth. His mouth hot and ready to kiss him as soon as he finishes sucking Bucky’s fingers clean. Steve slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, makes sure he can taste him. Steve clenches down around Bucky’s cock, holding him deep inside him, as they keep kissing. 

When they finally drag their lips apart Steve whispers against Bucky’s mouth, “Filled me so full, Buck. Wanna see?”

“Yeah.” Bucky swallows. “Lemme see, sweetheart.”

Steve lets go of Bucky’s shoulders and leans back until his can brace himself on the side of the lounger and Bucky can watch as he slowly lets his cock slip out of him all slick and wet. “Ah,” Steve feigns teasing surprise as he lets a little trickle of come slip out of his asshole. Bucky’s breathing is picking up again and Steve revels in the power he has over him, how he has him fucking mesmerized. It’s goddamn heady and he can feel himself getting hard again as he holds back, keeps teasing Bucky.

“Com’on. Lemme see.” Bucky whines when Steve only lets another small trickle run out. “Baby, please.”

Steve rubs a hand over his belly down to his cock and slowly strokes it. “So full. First your cock, then your come. You do so good, Buck. You fill me up so good.” He wants to come again, he’s on the brink already. Looking at Bucky, taunting him, seeing him want so much has brought him back to the edge. 

He stands up, one leg on each side of the lounger as Bucky instantly scoots forward and grasps him by the hips to twist him around. He isn’t the least bit gentle about it and Steve laughs, loud and gasping as he turns so his back is to Bucky and he can grab both cheeks of his ass, can pull them apart. Steve can feel the heat of Bucky’s stare on him and he finally lets go, lets all of Bucky’s come leak out of him, slide down the insides of his thighs. There’s so much, it runs down his thighs and Bucky grips him so tight it hurts and he loves every fucking second of it.

“Look at all of it,” he orders Bucky. “Look at what you did to me. What a mess you made.” He backs up a bit and reaches around to get a good grip on Bucky’s hair as he pushes his mouth towards his asshole. “Clean it up, baby.”

Bucky licks and sucks at him like his fucking life depends on it and it makes Steve’s thighs tremble. He can barely keep standing upright, he can feel his legs starting to give out on him, but it feels so good. Bucky’s mouth is so so good. He keeps jerking himself off as Bucky eats him out and it’s an embarrassingly short time before he’s splattering come all over his hand and the lounger. 

He feels a sharp slap against his ass and hears Bucky muttering behind him. “So fucking filthy...filthy, dirty,” and, “beautiful, dirty slut, my perfect boy.” The words make him shudder and jerk again, the heat washing over him.

“Yours,” he says as Bucky wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him down onto his lap. Steve collapses against Bucky’s chest as he gives himself time to come down. He tips his head back on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s lips are soon on his neck, kissing and nipping. 

“Love you so fucking hard, Stevie, you don’t even know.” The rumble of Bucky’s words vibrate against his skin.

Steve tangles his fingers with Bucky’s against his still slick stomach. “I do, Buck. I know. Love you too, so goddamn bad.”

Bucky presses another kiss to Steve’s neck. “Forever, sweetheart.”

“And then some.”

Because Steve knows their love is infinite, it’s beyond death, beyond the boundaries of this world, and even when they’re both nothing but dust it’ll still linger.

They’ll linger.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on **[tumblr](http://gigi-gigi.tumblr.com/)**.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] After All, We Linger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586561) by [giselleslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giselleslash/pseuds/giselleslash), [thatsmysecret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmysecret/pseuds/thatsmysecret)




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